


Neon

by Siera_Writes



Category: Blur
Genre: Gratuitous lighting description, Kissing, M/M, Mid to late 90s, Smut, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 16:58:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10666926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siera_Writes/pseuds/Siera_Writes
Summary: Alex flicks a glance back over his shoulder, wiggling his eyebrows, only, his fringe is covering one eye, so he looks a bit of an idiot, and Graham barks a laugh, quick and harsh, taken by surprise. He can feel the buzz of alcohol in his veins dropping, and a little trickle of anxiety with it as edges to things get a little sharper. They'll fuck, and then he can drink, he reasons.





	Neon

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where I'm getting all this inspiration from after a year of not having written anything but I'm super happy about it. Have some quick and dirty gralex.
> 
> As always, my work is unbetaed, so glaring mistakes are mine and I do apologise!
> 
> My tumblr is eviljaffafish, and if you ever want to chat with me, feel free!

They'd barely left the stage before Alex had his hand clasped around Graham's wrist, palm clammy against his skin. Anticipation had already been brewing in his bones, a product of numerous held glances from either side of the stage, a knowing smirk twisting Alex's lips, almost cruelly.

Now, Alex is dragging him down the corridor, and both of them are breathing hard and fast from the high of the performance, grinning so wide their cheeks hurt. Graham's legs are heavy, lamb-like, so every so often he trips, but Alex keeps him steady, reaches to hold him up with a strength belied by his fey frame. His shoulders are broad and his legs are long and all Graham really wants to do is get fucked, drown himself in Alex's beauty, be covered and contained entirely, because fuck, who let him be that pretty?

But they can't - or at least, not right now they can't - there're people milling around, apparently unfazed by two twenty-odd year olds stumbling through the venue's maze-like passages, and there's nowhere flat to do it, except the ground right here, and Graham isn't down for that. He's not sure about Alex, though. Knowing him, he might like that.

Alex flicks a glance back over his shoulder, wiggling his eyebrows, only, his fringe is covering one eye, so he looks a bit of an idiot, and Graham barks a laugh, quick and harsh, taken by surprise. He can feel the buzz of alcohol in his veins dropping, and a little trickle of anxiety with it as edges to things get a little sharper. They'll fuck, and then he can drink, he reasons. 

Alex sticks his tongue out, before turning back to continue mysteriously divining the correct route to their intended destination. If Graham were to guess, probably the bathrooms. Though he is hoping that Alex's flirtatious discussion with the manager of this place before they went on-stage means there might be somewhere of a little higher class they can end up in, instead.

They come to a doorway, and Alex slows to a prowl as he glances around, checking who's knocking about - thankfully, they're now far enough from the focal point of the stage for there to be very few people - before towing Graham through the door into a room which is a damn sight better than what Graham had been envisaging they'd resort to. Sure, the halogen strip in the corner is fluctuating spasmodically, more often dull than all that bright, the other washing the mostly-white room with a cool, clinical light. Shadows are sharp. It looks like a storeroom; there are cardboard boxes piled to the ceiling on the left of the space, and two small windows on the far side are covered partially by flimsy horizontal blinds, the greyed aluminium of them flashing back desaturated flickers of neon from outside. One set clatters against the manilla wall, rocked by a faint breeze from outside through a cracked window. There's the smell of rain and exhaust fumes from the road beyond. 

Alex drops his hand, wanders a tiny, vague circuit of the room, taking in the limited space. It's two metres deep, maybe three across. Graham reluctantly leans back against the wood of the door, sticking his hands under his armpits in mild impatience. He had expected Alex to be on him the split-second the door clicked shut, ravenous as Alex seemed at times. But then, sometimes Alex could get caught up in the bigger picture - space, the planets, their moons. All these appeal to Alex. And doubtless, having the correct lighting and set for whatever they were about to do - surely that appeals to Alex's vanity even more. Besides, he's always happy to watch the bassist.

With a devilish smile, Alex turns to look at Graham, then looks down to Graham's abdomen, where his pose has pulled the hem of his top a little higher, stare blatant and unabashed. A couple of years ago, Graham would've blushed at such overt interest, rearranged his limbs and wilted under the weight of an interested gaze. But he's used to Alex's looks now, or rather, he's been on the receiving end enough to know that lifting his chin higher and challenging Alex will get to where they both want to be, far, far quicker. Graham's mouth is dry. He licks his lips.

Alex's smile draws wider, slowly, and his eyes glimmer a bit. He steps forward deliberately, to the point where Graham begins to feel like prey. About a foot away, he stops. From here, his face is in shadow, as is Graham, and unruly strands of the taller man's hair catch the light. 

It's odd, this, being on the edge of lust and calm. Their situation could easily tip either way, now the fresh elation's ebbed. Graham could smile, soft and fond, push up onto his tiptoes to give him a peck on the nose, and Alex would reciprocate: he always does. They could hug, kiss languidly, while away their time until they need to leave. Or Graham could reach up and curl his hands into Alex's soft hair, pull his face down into a hungry kiss. He could do both. He would enjoy both. 

But this isn't uncomfortable. It's interesting and exciting, and he skims his vision across the sharp planes of Alex's face, across the curve of his lips, and up to his eyes, shadowed darker by his prominent brows. They stand there for a few beats longer, just basking in each other's presence. 

Graham's cooling off, sweat on his back growing noticeable, and a breath of rain-chilled air sweeps through the small room, eliciting goosebumps down his arms and prompting a shiver to trail from the nape of his neck down to the small of his back. Alex's pupils grow, lips moving apart, and Graham gasps. Alex presses himself up to Graham, trapping him against the door, and he can feel the rhythm of their breathing clashing, their heartbeats meshing. His knees are weak, he might slip to the ground any second if not for Alex's sheer presence. He might not ever breathe again.

Alex tilts his head to the left, slowly, like Graham's a skittish animal, then dips his head, eyes burning into Graham as he does so. Graham swallows dryly, squirms as he feels a gentle brush of lips against his neck, then the bright pinch of teeth. He feels the hot wetness of Alex's tongue laving at whatever mark's been left there, soothing, and he scrabbles for Alex's face, framing it as he pulls them level, eyes imploring.

"Fuck me." It's desperate, throat dry and clicking, voice roughened with want. He's got lube if Alex hasn't, a little sachet, and a condom too, because he was sure something might happen with someone, and Damon isn't one for forward-thinking. Dave's canny, but a tad more sensible - more often than not declining, but always politely, and Graham never feels like he's overstepping a boundary on the off chance he asks - and if he's honest, it was Alex he wanted this evening, Alex with his stately, steely arrogance and his stupid hair and the chronic smokiness of cigarettes. He's glad it's plainly mutual.

Hands trail down his sides, target clear, and Graham whimpers slightly at the growing constriction of his jeans and boxers.

"Lights on? Or off?" Alex juts his chin to the light switch on the wall near them. "I think the ambiance would be quite nice without." He smirks. "And plus, it might be easier to forget we're in a storeroom."

Graham laughs, throwing his head back, baring his neck somewhat purposefully. "Only the best for me." He sticks his tongue out in a fit of compulsion, stomach swooping at the heat it evokes in Alex's eyes.

Alex goes to flick off the lights, footfalls quick, pulling off his top, his jeans, his socks, his underwear, as he does so. Graham copies him, shivering a little at the loss of heat in the cool room, but knowing Alex'll be back soon. He kicks away his jeans after removing what he needs from the back pocket, and takes in the room, modified as it is with the new lighting. 

Shapes and shadows are softer, colours unnatural and all the more brilliant for it, mostly purples, pinks, blues. Graham observes the return of the bassist rendered in alternating bright hues, and dark bands cast by the blinds, looking unearthly. The artist in him is caught up in the way the projected straight lines transform into curves and sweeps through the conduit of a human body's slopes and planes. He has particular regard for the lines across the tight skin of Alex's bicep, and deltoid. He feels the smile on Alex's face, knows he's preening under Graham's scrutiny, standing just that bit taller, spine pulled just that bit straighter. Alex is beautiful, really. He should draw him, someday.

"Ready?" Alex says it softly, lips curving gently. This is a side to the man that Graham feels fortunate to know, and experience. They're more than just four distinct counterparts in their band. Four very different people, and Graham thinks he knows all of them very well, though himself the least. He lifts the two sachets, fanned like a hand of cards, and matches Alex's more feral grin.

He beckons Alex forward, reaching up to kiss him square on the lips, then flicks his tongue against them to gain access, which Alex happily obliges him with. It's sloppy, their mouths sliding together hotly, and as Alex's large hands slide down to Graham's arse, he kicks up a leg around the bassist's waist to pull him closer. He hisses a little as their cocks touch, warm flesh sensitive. With little urging, he lifts his other leg, breathing out rapidly as he's lifted clean up, held above the floor by Alex and the door he's pressed against. They're at the same height now, though now his crotch is pressed against the firm plane of Alex's stomach, and as he shifts, as he even breathes, he feels tiny bursts of sensation, maddeningly teasing.

Alex grunts as he lifts Graham a little higher, adjusting him to be more stably held. They'll have to be quick if they want to do this. Graham knows - they've done this before. His arms are clasped around Alex's neck, and he's leant forward slightly, back bowed, so he sees the elegant, wide sweep of Alex's shoulders, the muscles and bones shifting and working as he prepares Graham, and beyond that, the swell of his arse. The lights from outside are shifting between reds and pinks, making the bars of dark across Alex's pale flesh all the more stark. 

Graham gasps as he feels Alex circle his entrance, finger slicked and just a touch too cool. Alex kisses his shoulder chastely in apology, and a few moments later begins again, working him gently. Graham's heart is fluttering, adrenaline building a wonderfully nervy sensation in his stomach, and as Alex's finger strays a bit deeper than he anticipated, he shifts against him, groaning with the friction he feels on his cock. 

Alex continues, movements growing firmer, adding one finger, then the next, until Graham can't take it anymore. He bites into the solid muscle of Alex's trapezius, and hisses, "C'mon!" Alex's ribs are straining, and he can feel the slight shake of Alex's arms.

"I need you to put it on me." Alex's teeth are gritted, and his hips are moving minutely, trying to hold himself together. Graham leans back as far as he can, snatching the packet from between the bassist's fingers, tearing open the packet and leaning precariously sideways to roll the condom on. Alex moans, hips bucking so he brushes against Graham's thigh. "Fuck!"

Graham returns to being sat up straight, and leans forward, hugging his arms as tight around Alex's shoulders as he can, locking his hands together. He can feel Alex moving his arms to align them both, see it under his flesh, patterns of light wandering as he shifts. Graham braces himself, but in this position it's a lot more intense, Alex's length hitting that spot as soon as he's done pushing into Graham, and he shudders from the wave of pleasure, a ripple down his spine which rubs his cock against Alex, reinforcing the sensation, making it stronger, and his muscles inadvertently clamp down on Alex. "Shit, Graham!" He sounds panicked. "Try not to do that, I don't want to drop you."

Graham gulps, and nods slowly, sweat beading at his temple as he tries to slow his breathing. It's almost too much, but in the best way. He almost can't take it, but he loves the feeling just knowing he can, and he has before. He swallows thickly, licks a line across the top of Alex's shoulder, first following the dusky border between neon pink and shadow, before passing through the shadow and straight up Alex's long, sinewed neck to his ear. "Fuck me, hard."

Alex doesn't need to be asked twice. He starts thrusting his hips, cautiously at first, before pulling further in, and out, sure that Graham isn't in pain. Graham rides it, ride the almost overwhelming wall of sensation; he closes his eyes, and they're both bathed in bright, kaleidoscopic, coloured lights in his mind's eye. It's almost psychedelic. It's better than drink. They were both close to begin with, and the assault on their senses this position brings, and the roughness, means they won't last long. 

Graham cracks open his eyes, wincing as shifting hues invade, and grasps the hair at Alex's nape, steering his head, taking in Alex's pleasure-glassy eyes, how dark and wide the pupils are blown, iris almost indistinguishable, and smashes their lips together, wetly, without care, trying to thank him through one gesture for this whole thing. He feels fucking invincible, flying high. Alex breaks the kiss to claw in a breath, and the movement of his torso against Graham provides just enough sensation to tip him over the edge, coming in spurts between them, his face buried in the crook of Alex's neck. Graham tides it out, limbs oh so heavy, but he clings, still. His mind's awash with pleasure, and every so often, Alex's thrusts hit that spot and he shudders again, the aftershocks surprising him, hips jerking again. A few moments more, and just as it's getting to the verge of being too much sensation, Alex's hips stutter, and he comes, gasping, holding Graham up mostly through the weight of his own body pinning him to the door.

Graham keeps kissing his shoulder as he collects himself, little brushes of his lips, his heart heavy with feeling in his chest. Eventually, Alex pulls back his face, cheeks slightly flushed with exertion, and he pulls out carefully, then helps Graham disentangle himself, and slide down the door. They both laugh a little hysterically, leaning in to kiss a couple of times, Alex resting his head on Graham's shoulder as he leans sideways on the door. "You good?" He can hear the tentative edge in Alex's voice, knows he wants to check if he's hurt him.

Graham clears his throat. "Yeah, 'm good." He shifts a little gingerly, wincing. "Well, mostly." It's no worse than he's felt after having sex with Damon. To be honest, he's probably been rougher to Damon. He'll be fine in a day or two. He keeps leaning forward to grab his t-shirt, then stops. He needs to clean them off, but the only things available to use to do so are their clothes. But he doesn't particularly want to have to leave the room shirtless. He's a bit conscious about that. Alex senses his deliberation, pushes up off the door with a groan of effort, and crawls towards his own clothes, drawing them back with him. "Here." It's his top. Graham smiles sheepishly. "Look mate, you know me, I don't mind the attention." He winks, before plopping a kiss on Graham's forehead and cleaning them off brusquely. It's getting cold in the room.

They find their way to their feet, dressing hurriedly, hearing the rain get heavier outside and the accompanying breeze pick up. Alex leans out of the door, cigarette clamped between his lips, end burning cherry, checking almost comically for the hallway to be clear, then ushers Graham from the room. He's not sure how Alex can pull off looking like a twat as he walks down the corridor shirtless, tee disposed of in a handy bin, smoke curling from his lips haughtily, but Graham sort of loves him for it. He looks up to Alex, and as though sensing it, Alex looks down at him, grinning. He pulls him close with an arm looped around his shoulders, and removes his cigarette and places a kiss on the top of his head, before ruffling his hair. Graham pushes him away with a laugh, attempting blindly to put his hair back to the way it was, to no avail.

When they arrive back at the dressing room, Damon smirks, looking Alex up and down before firing a toothy grin at Graham. Dave just raises his drink to him.


End file.
